


Unforgiving

by vesta02



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Desk Sex, Emotional, F/M, Goodbye Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesta02/pseuds/vesta02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A harsh goodbye for Warden-Commander Surana and King Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I was going to submit this to GreyAllison's challenge on Tumblr, but this didn't feel very celebratory to fit the theme despite it taking place during Alistair's coronation. I still wanted to post it! Takes place in a world where Neria Surana recruited Loghain and had Alistair marry Anora to rule together. Also this came to me while listening to Adele's new song 'Hello'. I also may have cried writing this, ooops.

She can feel his eyes on her through the evening but she steadfastly ignores his looks. Dressed in her armor, Surana holds her head high, chin forward, eyes focused on the party before her. Denerim deserves a celebration after the beating it took during the Blight, happy to come together to see their new King and Queen take their rightful place on the throne.

A decision that she made but there’s bitterness in her mouth despite the sweet wine and rich food before her. Every move she’s had to make was strategic, a move towards ending the Blight, restoring peace and making the hard calls when no one else would. They had all looked to her to decide but she’d never expected such backlash for the choices she made. Her heart clenches in her chest, unable to reconcile the accusatory looks that followed her choice to conscript Loghain, the hurt so blatant on her lover’s face when she’d managed to meet his gaze.

Her reasoning hadn’t mattered to him in that moment and in an instant she’d lost him completely.

It’s better this way, she thinks, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the rising emotions (too much wine, she thinks, turning away another glass), there wasn’t much of a life for them outside of the Wardens. The country needs someone kind, someone just, and Anora will help him in ways that Surana knows she can’t. Thankfully she’ll be gone soon, off to Amaranthine to gather new recruits, to continue the work left for her as the Warden-Commander. That title she can work with, unsteady with the weight of the _Hero of Fereldan_ upon her shoulders in Denerim.

Music starts and nobles line the dance floor. Surana ducks her head and quietly slips away under the burning gaze of Alistair from the head table. He and Anora are being called to open the celebration and he hesitates but takes his new Queen’s hand stiffly. Respect will grow, Surana hopes, if not love.

Her footsteps are quick as she moves down the hall, nodding to soldiers as she passes before ducking into her temporary chambers. It’s lavish and richly furnished but very little belongs to her. Anything she needs is packed away in a trunk, ready for her early morning departure. She runs a hand over her face, reaching back to pluck pins keeping her braided hair back, letting dark sections fall to her shoulders. She needs sleep, to put this place from her mind. It’s only a few more hours and then she’ll be free from the rumors of her and the new King, free from his burning gaze and the accusatory tone he had seemingly taken up with her in the month since things had gone so far south.

Working the buckles of her breastplate free, she carefully undresses piece by piece, leaving the loose tunic and leggings on for sleep. It’ll make leaving easier in the morning, she thinks, running her fingers through her loose hair.

A knock at the door startles her. Not bothering to look, Surana calls, “I’m fine, I don’t need anything.” A servant, she thinks, or someone coming to meet the mage who helped save Thedas. She’s in no mood, especially when she hears the door creak open and shut again. “Look, whatever you want, I’m not-“ She cuts herself off as she turns, eyes wide when she sees him standing there. “Alistair,” She breathes, unable to form words.

It’s the first time since the Landsmeet that they’ve been together in a room.

He’s tense, coiled, almost uncertain himself as to why he’s there. But he keeps his gaze fixed on her, and she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t know what to say. She wants to say so many things, to apologize, to explain herself in some desperate hope that he might understand why she did what she did. That hope is far-flung though.

“Were you going to sneak off? Leave without bidding anyone farewell?” His voice is low, so quiet, a hard edge that she doesn’t recognize. Her heart sinks as she swallows hard, shrugging her shoulders.

“I didn’t think anyone cared to see me off,” Her words sound harsher in her chambers than she means, but her own anger, her tumultuous emotions surge forward beyond her practical mind. “What do you want, Alistair?”

He steps away from the door, moving closer in the room, but Surana doesn’t back away from him. He looks regal in his finery, truly a King; despite her anger, despite her bitterness, she admires him in the candlelight.

“I just…” For a moment she sees the hesitation on his face, but he plows through it, a crease along his forehead as he meets her gaze with a hardness that’s so far removed from the joking, laughing man she met in Ostegar. “I need to know why.”

“Alistair,” Surana woefully meets his gaze, unable to stop the prickling of tears in her eyes, determined not to look away, to show weakness. “Please, let’s not do this. Not now,” _Not ever._ “You should go back to your party, you should go back to your Queen,” The future she’s so carefully plotted out for him in this mess, the future that he needs to follow. Her lower lip trembles, taking in a shaky breath as she wraps her arms around her torso in some attempt to physically hold herself together until he leaves. “Please.”

He says nothing for a moment and time seems frozen in the room. Surana can hear the music swelling, laughter echoing against the stone, merriment everywhere but here.

It’s one step. Then two. He’s looking at her with the same anger, the same hurt, but there’s also something more, something Surana doesn’t want to say aloud. Her heart can’t take it.

A third step to close the distance, his hands on either side of her face as she trembles, face screwed up in an attempt not to cry. “Neria,” He whispers before tilting her face to his, slanting his lips harshly against hers.

This isn’t the man who shyly asked her to spend the night with him, who blushed when handing her the rose from Lothering, who whispered words of love and adoration against her skin into the early morning hours. He’s hard and unforgiving, gripping her tightly against him as tongue and teeth overcome her soft mouth.

There’s a moment when he breaks, their noses all but touching, breathing harshly and Surana contemplates pushing him away from her. Of telling him to leave and never seeing him again unless she absolutely has to. But love, oh _love_ , it overwhelms her senses. This isn’t love, she tells herself as she grasps his shoulder with one hand, another grabbing his hair to pull him forward with the same harshness. This is goodbye, this is all she hasn’t said, all she wants to, the pain and the anger and the frustration but _oh_ it’s also memories of love they shared that she cannot and will not give up.

She gives up holding in her emotions, tears falling freely as he pushes her against the desk, a moan escaping her lips when he pulls away, biting down along her neck. He’ll leave marks, she thinks, working her fingers along the ties to his pants, but she doesn’t care in the moment. She swears she tastes salt on his cheeks but perhaps it’s just her imagination as he lifts her onto the desk, settling between her legs, fingers tangled in her hair to tilt her head just slightly to press unforgiving kisses and nips along the other side of her neck.

“Alistair,” She breathes, running assertive fingers along the growing hardness pressed between his legs and he gives a shuddering groan. He helps her from her leggings, finishing the work she began on his laces before he’s free.

There’s nothing soft or tender about it as he slams into her. Surana cries out, legs locked at his hips, fingers holding tight to him as he sets a punishing rhythm. The desk hits the wall and Surana thinks they’re being far too loud, but the thought leaves her when one of his hands slips between them to rub her. She throws her head back with a whimper of surprise.

“Come on, Neria,” His voice is rough and ragged in her ear, taking the pointed tip between his teeth as she feels the tension coiling in her lower belly.

Her climax takes her by surprise, hitting her hard as she lets out a low moan that’s quickly swallowed by his lips. His hand moves from between them, planted on either side of her body as, with a few well-timed thrusts, he completes, gasping into her shoulder.

There’s a stillness about them in the moments after. She remembers with such stark clarity what he used to do, how he held her without reserve, the little smile that always slid across his features after they’d finished. He was playful in those moments, loving, gentle. It’s all too much as she turns her head from him, biting down hard on her lower lip. His hands hover for a moment, as though he wants to do as he’s done before, to caress her skin, her cheeks, smooth back her hair, but he holds back.

She doesn’t know how long they stay like this but he’s pulling out, adjusting himself back into his pants, decidedly not meeting her gaze. She doesn’t move, hands on either side of her legs, gripping the desk as tightly as she can. She wants to tell him sorry a million times over, to fix this broken thing between them, to at least leave without bitterness in her heart. But it’s still too soon for her broken heart to do much than hammer in her chest, her stomach coiled in knots, fighting back tears.

“I should…” Alistair clears his throat, a pink flush along his neck as he finally looks at her. For a moment, she thinks he might say more, that perhaps he’ll apologize himself, but the moment passes. Instead, he becomes the King again, assured and stoic in place of the boy he used to be. “Warden-Commander,” He murmurs, turning on his heel and making a hasty retreat from her room.

It’s only when he’s gone that she stands again on shaky legs, cleaning herself off at the wash basin before climbing between the sheets. She can hear the celebration down the hall but she can’t bring herself to feel any joy, weeping softly into her pillow for the lost love and the choices she’s made.


End file.
